Chapter 2 - The Emergency Room
I pulled into the ambulance bay of the hospital, slamming the car into park before it had even fully stopped.
I ripped the back door open, unbuckled Liam, and sprinted through the sliding glass doors.
“Help me, please!” I screamed into the brightly lit waiting room.
A team of nurses was already rushing toward me with a gurney.
“Are you the mother who called 911 about a suspected drugging and drowning?” a doctor asked, taking Liam from my arms.
“Yes, he was pushed into a pool, but he told me his grandfather put a pill in his juice right before,” I gasped out.
They whisked him away through a set of double doors, leaving me standing in a puddle of my own freezing water.
A heavy blanket was wrapped around my shoulders by a kind nurse, but the cold I felt was entirely internal.
Ten minutes later, two uniformed police officers walked into the waiting area and approached me.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Davis,” the taller one said, pulling out a notepad.
“Can you tell us exactly what happened at that house tonight?”
I didn’t just tell them; I showed them.
I pulled out my phone, thankful it was water-resistant, and opened the video I had been recording.
I had originally started recording to capture Liam bringing out the fake rings for the rehearsal.
Instead, it captured Chloe slapping my son, shoving him into the deep end, and Richard choking me to prevent a rescue.
The audio of my father saying Liam didn't deserve to live played crystal clear in the quiet hospital corridor.
Officer Davis stared at the screen, his jaw tightening in absolute disgust.
“We have enough here for immediate arrest warrants for attempted murder and child endangerment,” he stated firmly.
Just then, the emergency room doctor walked out, looking grim but relieved.
“Your son is stabilized, but his toxicology screen came back positive for a heavy dose of prescribed sedatives,” the doctor explained.
“If he had been in that water for thirty more seconds, the medication would have stopped his heart completely.”
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I collapsed into a plastic waiting room chair, sobbing violently into my hands.
My father hadn't just watched him drown; he had actively engineered his death.
